round? Well yes it does I suppose. Food, heat, light,time to write. All the essentials. I send out a lot of invoices for writing work, and it still gives me a bit of a thrill (people pay me to write ). Today I sent out a slightly different one – to my local bookseller, The Ironbridge Bookshop. They stocked my poetry zine last year and have just sold the last one. Now I’m not going to be retiring to the Bahamas (after commission and the graphic designer’s fee I could just about get a day out in Brum) but this does feel special. There’s something about the fact that someone has walked into a shop, seen my work and liked it enough exchange some of their hard earned cash in order to take it home. It feels like validation I suppose – as though there is a market for my words, and that it genuinely connects with people.
I’ve spent my earnings on two more courses. One is with Spelt magazine all about how to submit to magazines, which I’m obviously doing but I feel I could perhaps do better, with a bit of practical help. The other is a workshop which sounds right up my street both in terms of method and subject. I’m not great in a classroom situation (thank you repressive girls’ school) and struggle to contribute but this workshop seems like it might be just the right balance of contribution and contemplation. My experience on my York CLL course has really shown me how much I learn from a workshop style, and how it builds on everything I’ve read about poetry in the last couple of years.
Things feel good at the moment. I mean obviously everything is terrible, but this tiny poetry aspect of my life feels like a refuge, rather than yet another point of worry. And refuge is, after all, one of the reasons I write.
You can buy Yes to Tigers from Ironbridge Bookshop, or direct from me – just email kathrynannawrites@gmail.com x
I mean – how is that possible? This month has meandered away under a cover of cloud.
The end of summer usually makes me sad – warm weather means less pain for one thing. I miss eating outside, watching the swifts and martins overhead and the general floatiness that comes from spending every day in long skirts and flip-flops. Autumn is beautiful, of course, and winter is pleasingly austere but summer ? Summer is for smiling and pretending I live somewhere altogether less stoical.
I feel different this year. Perhaps it’s because much of summer has been taken up with house renovation, perhaps it’s the insistent gloom of the skies over Coalbrookdale. Perhaps it was that glorious week on the Welsh coast. I don’t feel as bereft and wary of winter as usual.
It could also be because I feel I’ve regained some equilibrium. I’m writing more mindfully, rather than scribbling from a turbulent mind, which inevitably means work that is more poem than outpouring – ultimately, work that is better.
I’ve also been more proactive with submissions – looking at my Trello page and seeing I’ve only three pieces in circulation was a bit of a shock . I spent some time reviewing, redrafting and refining some of the poems I’ve made this year as well as seeking homes for them. Always nerve racking. Always exciting. Always full of “why can’t I just be happy with gardening instead of putting myself through this”.
Camping at Caerfai seems like years ago
Good news too – I’ve had a piece of flash accepted for publication by Sledgehammer Lit. who are fast feeling like my poetry-spirit home. I love what they publish and I love that they seem to like my stuff. This piece is one that I love and that I’ve found hard to home – so I’m thrilled it’s going to be part a journal I admire. A couple of poems were declined – but that’s how it goes.
New projects are brewing too – a couple of gentle collaborations with friends whose art I adore may be coming to fruition in the not too distant future.
I seem to have a new direction in terms of how I want to write. My aim is to set aside a week – autumn I hope – and do my own mini writing retreat. I’ll have to stay at home obviously, but I’m going to try to minimise other work and manage domestic duties so I can focus on reading,writing and exploring new directions. Or I might go and make furniture in the Scottish Highlands like Cate le Bon.
So summer is closing, with a whimper or a bang remains to be seen, but I feel positive about my work, and positive about where I’m going – slowly, as ever, but I’m moving. And that’s what counts.
If you’d like to comission a poem, for yourself or as a gift then you can ! I love to create bespoke poetry – it’s a privilege to be asked to express people’s love and care for each other. If you’d like to find out more just click on Poems from the Hare at the top of the page, or send me a message kathrynannawrites@gmail.com
Overstretched myself. I’ve signed up for all the things, said yes to all the jobs and I’m just about coping…
The thing is, new year, new intentions, the weird belief that being in lockdown means I’m less busy (being in lockdown isn’t that different when you’ve got a chronic condition) and a good deal of need for distraction means my “no” filter is well and truly clogged.
Cat is disappointed with my lack of discipline
Starting the year with a rejection or two
is never ideal. It’s part of being a published writer, and I am less likely to weep and wail and snap pencils in half* than I used to be but it still hurts. One in particular was for a set of poems I’ve worked really hard on, and pinned a host of hopes to and the days after finding out they’d not been chosen oscillated between Pollyanna-like positivity and a touch of crushed despair. Putting your heart on a page to be judged will do that I guess. Add in the context of knowing people are going through a whole lot worse than you, others are working round the clock to save lives, continue education and feed people who are too stubborn to wear a mask, and the whole business of submitting poetry feels a little hollow.
Poetry isn’t pointless though
nor is music, art, tv (unless it’s actually Pointless of course) film or any hybrid collab you can shake a stick at. It helps distract, comfort, crystallise emotion. It might make someone laugh or be the gateway for unshed tears. I’ve said before, the thing that means the most to me is when people getting in touch to say what I’ve written resonated with them, moved them, mattered to them. And of course I’ll keep going because that appears to be what I do, what I stick at despite the challenges and what I seem to be good at. I’ve sent another batch of submissions out today…I’ll spend the next week or so checking my inbox far too often, then forget about them and get either a fabulous surprise or another knock. And so the cycle continues.
Reading is hard at the moment
because I’ve taken on all the things, when I stop, it’s hard to focus on reading. I know this is bad – my brain needs food to function. Having said that I’ve enjoyed a fabulous collection of short stories Black Vodka by Deborah Levy is a collection that explore all kinds of love, in all kinds of cities and all kinds of lives. I miss travel, I miss people, and this collection of stories has snaked its way around my heart and mind. The writing is so beautiful I can almost taste it as I read.
Poetry wise I’m revisiting an unfinished book Urn & Drum by Lila Matsumoto. The poems are sparse. They leave me with a sense of hanging in the air. I enjoy the quiet that surrounds the words, the focus that inhabits each line. It’s a collection I’ll return to.
Halfway through February
already and it’s Valentine’s day! I love this day, the hearts, the kitschness, the overcommercialism. I am taking the weekend off to spend time surrounded by paper hearts eat every heart shaped item of food I can find and drink every pink drink produced to celebrate the brutal martyrdom of a 5th century member of the clergy I can lay my hands on. At this point in winter, it really is a case of any excuse for a celebration and I really do love a heart or two.
Thank you for reading, stay safe, wash your hands, eat your greens and hug a tree
I’m nearing the end of my Telling your Story course. I’ve produced a sheaf of poems from over the last month, a couple that I really love, some that need a bit more work and some that are best left as they are – an simple expression of emotion. I’ll be sending several out for submission, but I thought I’d share this one with you – it’s very much of the moment. The prompt was to think about what we’d pack away as this first period of the pandemic seems to be reaching an end.
image courtesy of @tuckergood via unsplash
My coronavirus case has a cherry pink lining
I choose my favourite vanity case
vintage cream with cherry pink lining,
pounced on in that Liverpool charity shop.
I lay down casual chats with my neighbours.
I lay down having you here.
Eating, together, at one on the dot.
There’s a corner for beloved musicians,
beaming beautiful covers of beautiful songs
live from their room to mine. A corner for listening parties,
a corner for shared lives online.
I have to leave space for the wipes, for hand gel, for grocery fear,
Space for missed hugs and markers,
time ebbed away in untouchable blur.
I leave space for those lives irretrievably changed,
Coo, I can’t believe it’s nearly a month since I last posted. I’ve had a decent sized paid project for most of the month, which has been enjoyable, plus a couple of smaller ones that have been a little odd; writing umpteen business descriptions for funeral companies is a somewhat challenging. I still enjoy it though, and like the fact that I’m supporting independent businesses, and maybe doing a tiny bit to make a horrible time easier for people. Words are important, however insignificant they initially seem.
Creative work has been productive too. I adore my new poetry school course. I’ve learnt to write in trimester, spondee, trochee and everyone’s favourite, iambic pentameter. I’ve also learnt that it’s spectacularly difficult to do well, and dangerously easy to do badly. It almost feels like writing music (I imagine), which makes absolute sense given the name of the course. I am learning so much, and love the discipline of writing in structured meter.
My fortnightly feedback course is better too; I’ve revisited a selection of work that I write on my bed days, all based on the view from my window. They’re not as dull as they sound, I promise. The work has had good feedback, and I’ve had some great input for improvements too. I almost feel as though I’m gathering a themed collection, which is what I was missing last year.
Getting a bit organised and understanding how to find a home for my work has been tricky, but very much worth doing. It’s hard to accept the limitations of my energy sometimes (all the time) but I am getting better at realising that if I stop when my body is telling me to – before my brain physically hurts- I will be more productive in the long run. Not ideal for an inherently impatient character like myself…but essential if I’m going to achieve my goals.
I have publication news too; three more pieces have been accepted for inclusion in various online and printed lit mags. This is marvellous of course, but my goodness it takes a while for them to appear. I am learning patience is an intrinsic part of this, and quite often dates will be delayed or moved. I am learning to be more chilled. Honest.
Something I’m often asked is if I get paid for the work I have published. The answer is it varies. At this stage, I’m very much an unknown, and very much finding my way in a bewildering market. Bigger presses pay a small amount, but they attract the big names too- so competition is stronger. Smaller outfits still attract what I refer to as “proper” poets, ones with books and pamphlets published by fab indie presses and sold out slots at literary festivals, but they cannot afford to pay, until they start making money themselves. The reality is that any money is made from speaking, teaching, community projects and residencies, but of course to do these, one has to have a track record of publication, and be a poet who people respect and want to hear more from.
At this early stage I am building up a reputation and gaining a presence and identity for my work. It’s especially challenging to do this within the confines of M.E. I can’t nip off to one of the countless poetry festivals or offer to work alongside poets who work in local schools and community groups. I never say never, though, and for now the online poetry community is a wonderfully supportive and inspiring place to work, even if the accolades are slightly quieter.
Rest assured, as soon (probably to the minute) as my work is available on any platform I shall be relentlessly tweeting, instagramming and facebooking the links so there’s no chance of missing them (I know you were worried).
Thanks as ever for reading. One of the best ways you can support me – until such point as I have dozens of books to make you buy – is to repost, retweet, sign up and comment on everything you see. It makes social media think I’m popular,which means it’ll show folk my posts.
Kathryn Anna Marshall 